


There Should Be Someone with Intelligence on the Team

by hithelleth



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen, mentions of others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chasing the rumours about General Monroe’s execution, Jeremy Baker travels south whether to find closure or something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rumours

He tells himself he is going south because he is too old for the freezing north.

It has nothing to do with the rumours of General Monroe having been captured and executed in some pigeonhole town in Texas.

No, he is just going someplace warmer, like he has always wanted, even before the blackout. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream, to retire somewhere warm, at the beach, watching the sunset while sipping a cocktail?

He is smart enough to avoid those US guys.

You don’t have to be a genius to see there is something fishy about them. For one thing, the way they conveniently showed up after Monroe and Foster nuked each other’s capitals.

(Did they, really? Bass was… crazy, for the lack of a better word, but… even if _he_ had been that nuts, Foster seemed like a person who would have considered the lives of the common folk.)

Unfortunately, most people seem to be as dumb as fish – yeah, he’s losing his touch with the puns – for not seeing anything wrong with that. Not to mention other things.

Hence, Jeremy stays out of the Patriots’ – what he hears they are calling themselves – way, minding his own business.

Fifteen, sixteen years ago, he would have been as good as dead on his own – he all but was already – however, now he can fend for himself just fine, thanks to…

With only his thoughts for company, he descends into a whirlpool of overthinking everything. Mostly the past, the memories; the things he didn’t do, the things he could have done and which could have made a difference in how it all ended.

He should be glad Monroe got what he deserved after what he had done to him.

Jeremy’s own words echo back to him: _friend, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy._ He meant something else at the time, but the point remains the same. No, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even on Monroe, the least of all on Monroe.

While wandering closer and closer to Texas, Jeremy is trying to convince himself that confirming the news on the spot will bring him closure. Nothing less, nothing more.

He will just pass through Texas on the way to Mexico.

It appears, how ironically, that Mexico is the place to live these days: sun, food, and tequila; much better than the good old US.

***

The news was false. Why that makes relief wash over him is beyond Jeremy.

They are sloppy. Too easy to find. (Apparently, Jeremy is not the only one who has found them.) Too easy to spy on.

They have gone soft. He can’t believe it. They are practically sitting ducks. Careless.

Bass – no use at forcing the pretence of hatred by calling him Monroe in his head anymore – is sitting around mulling over something, seemingly deaf and blind to those little warning signs of danger he used to be so good at discerning. Quite a change from his paranoia. Maybe being almost executed (Jeremy bets there is an interesting story behind that) does that to a man.

Miles is completely wrapped in Rachel like a love-sick teenager, following her like a puppy and ignoring everything and everyone else.

Are these the fearsome generals of the Republic, the men who taught him everything?

They are going to get themselves killed, for real, if they keep it up this way.

It is a miracle they haven’t all been caught (well, technically, except Bass) yet, with all those bounties Jeremy has seen floating around.

There is that niece of Miles’ around as well, as sharp as the knife she keeps polishing.

The Neville scum, the old and the young, surely with a hidden agenda.

Jeremy doesn’t know the other two guys.

The old man seems to be close to Rachel; might be her relative. Her father, likely.

The younger one’s hair and eyes are too dark, but the smile and the stance are all Bass’. Could be that lost kid of his; though how on earth has Bass found him?

Jeremy watches them for a couple of days, deciding each evening he will continue down to Mexico the next morning.

***

He won’t go down to Mexico, of course. Not yet.

They are roasting a pair of pheasants the girl shot earlier in the day over the fire in front of their hideout.

The girl – Charlie – is fixing her crossbow, although Jeremy doesn’t believe it needs fixing.

Miles and Rachel are huddled together, speaking quietly, ignorant of the frowns Charlie and the old man occasionally send their way.

Bass and his supposed son talk less, though whatever they do say often elicits a remark from Charlie, and smirks pass among the three of them.

The Nevilles are nowhere to be seen. All the better.

***

Finding himself face to face with Charlie’s crossbow as he steps out of the shadows into the circle of light is expected. At least one of them still has reflexes and some common sense.

“Good evening. Have a place for one more?” he greets pleasantly, trying not to smirk at the faces gaping at him.

Apart from the girl, who frowns with recognition: “You!” and aims her weapon still more pointedly at his chest. 


	2. Reunion

***

“How the hell have you found us?”

“Good to see you too, Miles.” Jeremy briefly glances at his old (former) friend/general before returning his attention to his niece. “Do you mind?” He points to the weapon she has trained on him.

“Put it down, Charlie. There’s six of us against him.” Miles points out.

“True. Also, had I been intent to harm anyone, I could’ve already done that. Had a great teacher or two.”

Charlie scoffs, but to Jeremy’s surprise she glances at Bass – who looks as if he’s seeing a ghost, understandably so, but does give her the slightest nod – before she lowers her crossbow.

“How... are you… alive?”

Bass is frozen to the spot, his voice dry, cracked with emotion, his expression that of a faithless man who can’t believe his eyes.

“Well, no thanks to you.” Jeremy surprises himself with the quick, sharp sound of his reply, considering he doesn’t feel as much resentment as sympathy for this man, this tormented man – his friend, still, despite everything.

“Franklin owed me big time,” he tells Bass as a way of explanation, then elaborates. “Got him off facing the firing squad himself a few years back… Remember the Boston screw-up? That _was_ all on him. Well, he had one of his guys shoot a flask of pig blood instead of me. Then they got me out wrapped in the carpet.”

He shifts his weight while there is a moment of confounded silence all around.

“You… you really are alive?” Bass breaks from his trance, rushing forward, his hands grabbing Jeremy’s shoulders, making sure he’s really there. “You’re… I didn’t…“ Bass crushes him into a hug, knocking the breath out of Jeremy’s lungs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jeremy, I should’ve waited, listened… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re alive…” He’s babbling into Jeremy’s neck, crying, tears soaking Jeremy’s collar, while Jeremy just stands there for a few moments before he brings his arms around Bass and hugs him back.

“It’s okay, Bass,” he says. “I kinda thought you were dead too.”

This seems to sober Bass up, since he pulls away, albeit reluctantly. He wipes his face with the back of his sleeve. “No, it’s not okay,” he disagrees.

“Can one of you explain what the hell this is about?” Miles demands.

Bass startles, as if he had forgotten everyone else just until then. Maybe Jeremy has as well, caught up in the momentum.

“I had him… executed.” Bass falters.

“You did what?!”

 _Yeah, look who’s speaking, dick._ It’s a wrong moment to make this about Miles, though, so Jeremy doesn’t bring up his assassination plot and other shit.

“Hey, from his point of view, it was understandable.” _Yeah, can’t believe I’ve just said that._

“It’s not.” Apparently, Bass thinks so, too. “I was so paranoid, I didn’t know friend from foe, but I was wrong.” He looks Jeremy in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. You were right, you were my last friend and I… and it was just like you said, that I’d end up alone…“ Bass’ voice breaks, but he collects himself, continuing before Miles can interfere again. “They told me it was a Georgian. You have no idea how much I wanted I could undo it. I wish I could undo it all, but… I don’t even deserve to be forgiven, but I’m –”

“No.” Jeremy cuts him off. “Don’t ask me for forgiveness.”

Bass steels himself, then his face goes familiarly blank, accepting the blow that wasn’t meant to be one.

“You already have it.” Jeremy finishes and Bass’ jaw drops, literally.

Jeremy has been thinking about it a lot. Bass was sick, insane with paranoia, and from his fucked-up perception his suspicions made sense at the time. Jeremy couldn’t not understand that, couldn’t hold it against his friend forever, not even for long, actually.

Jeremy doesn’t say it all; there will be enough time to talk about it in privacy, he supposes. Besides, it’s time to lighten the mood.

He looks around the camp.

“So,” he says casually, “this pheasant feast smells delicious. Care to share some?” He addresses the question to Charlie, since the dinner is her catch – no harm trying to get on the good side of the food provider.

Charlie shrugs. “Help yourself.” She resumes her seat with a sigh, muttering something about “half of the goddamn militia”.

The old man – Rachel’s dad, so he was right about him just as about the young man, Connor, who is indeed Bass’ kid – serves him a portion of meat with a piece of bread while Miles makes the introductions as everyone settles back to what they were doing before Jeremy showed up.

It’s like the good old times, Jeremy thinks as he finds a seat between Miles and Bass and they fall into what could be called debriefing – questions and answers back and forth in all directions. No, not quite the good old times – in the old times Miles and Bass had never been more than few inches apart, let alone needed someone seated in between – but close enough. There may be a strain between the three of them, as if they were getting to know each other – and maybe they are, after all that has happened, after all they have done – yet this is a start.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for keeping some of you waiting on this for so long. I hope I've made it worth the wait. I have some ideas for more, but again, I can't promise how soon (late).

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Good? Bad? Did I get Jeremy's voice right? 
> 
> I think Team Matheson and Monroe needs an intervention from someone who isn’t afraid to point out some harsh truths. And Jeremy would be perfect for that. Can we please have him back? (I know, it’s not going to happen.)
> 
> Blame those people I follow on Tumblr bringing me a full dash of Mark Pellegrino yesterday and making me miss Jeremy for this. There is supposed to be more of this story coming, just don’t ask me when, because my brain is currently insisting on writing ten different things at once. 
> 
> Un-beta’d, so quibble away if you see something. Comments are always welcome.


End file.
